


Bellamy Blake, Pirate Ay

by DayStar



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 03:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3712483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DayStar/pseuds/DayStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke is traveling from her home country to seal an advantageous marriage with the Mountain People at the urging of her mother. The very last thing she expected was for her ship to be boarded by pirates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bellamy Blake, Pirate Ay

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, the title. Sorry about that, I just... couldn't think of anything else. Slightly sad. Also sorry for the summary. Not my forte. But still, this was a fun thing to write, and I may expand it. If I do, other relationships/pairings will be added, the rating may change, etc. But for now, just a little one shot, because who doesn't like the 100 + pirates?

The first time the ship was struck, Clarke thought the world was ending.

In her defense she’d been asleep, and the bone-jarring thud of the cannonball ripping through timber was hardly a peaceful sound to wake to. With a gasp Clarke jerked upright, throwing off the fine sheets that had tangled around her limbs. She felt thick, heavy; her few hours of sleep had clearly not been enough.

Another resounding boom, the crack of wood and a chorus of screams sharply told her it would have to be. It took little thought to realize they were under attack. It took even less to grasp that it must be pirates. There were no countries on this side of the Rift bold enough to attack a merchant ship flying under Arkon’s black and blue colours. Which meant…

Clutching firmly at the necklace resting at her throat, the blonde rose from her bed, went to the door. A pause of trepidation, a mastering of her fear, and she threw it open.

The hallway was chaotic. The _Sky Lady_ had been light on merchandise, had, as a result, taken on quite a few passengers rich enough to afford a room. They milled loudly and uncertainly in the cramped space, rings flashing on their fingers, reflecting the light from the lamps someone had lit. Many were still dressed up from the captain’s dinner – which Clarke had elected not to attend, exhausted as she was – while others were in their nightgowns just as she was.

A woman who had just emerged from her room clutched at Clarke’s arm. “What’s going on?” she demanded over the panicked discussions of the rest of the passengers. “Who’s attacking us?”

“Pirates,” the younger girl replied grimly. When the woman flinched and swayed, as though about to faint, Clarke hurriedly added, “No, don’t worry. I doubt they plan on -”

For the third time the ship was bombarded, the floor listing precariously underfoot. A good deal of screaming came from the passengers as they stumbled or were knocked down, but Clarke thought she heard pained cries coming from above as well. A few seconds later, the unmistakable report of gunfire and more shouting made her jaw set.

It was a struggle to get through the mass of frightened people, but eventually she found herself at the base of the stairs no one seemed to want to ascend. Clarke knew that in a pitched fight she could hardly help, might even get in the way – she had no formal combat experience – but she couldn’t just do nothing. There were men – Arkons – who were injured, maybe even dying, and that was something that she _could_ address.

The thought propelled her up the stairs. She emerged into poorly lit confusion. The moon was a slender disk, providing almost no light, and almost all of the lamps had been doused. Through the darkness shapes slipped with purpose, heading to stations for reasons she could only guess at. The jut of their rifles were barely visible to her straining eyes. There were shouts – directions, not fear – and the acrid smell of gunpowder pushed insistently at her nose.

Over it all, a shadow within shadows, loomed a ship much larger than the _Sky Lady_ , too shrouded to make out details, so close it seemed about to crush them. Even as Clarke swiveled around, trying to find the captain, a deep voice rang out from the massive vessel.

“Hold your fire!” As a few more shots rang out from his side, the man who was shouting repeated more fiercely, “I said hold your fire! Damnit Miller, take his gun…”

The voice faded, as did the gunfire from both sides, and it was then that she spotted Captain Ward crouching somewhat sheltered near the wheel. She rushed up to him, and he spared her hardly a glance.

“Miss, you shouldn’t rightly be up here,” he said, never breaking off eyeing the other ship.

Ignoring the dismissive tone, Clarke leaned closer. “Do you have medical supplies? If yes – I was trained by Queen Griffin. I can help.”

Her mother may have kept her from many things – too many – but at least she’d passed on her extensive medical knowledge. Anything to make her daughter a more desirable bride. Before the thought could become too bitter Clarke cut it off. She refocused on the captain, who was actually looking at her now. A moment later he nodded.

“Alright my lady,” he said, like he’d just remembered her proper title instead of deliberately left it out the first time. “Much obliged. We got the wounded in the aft. Medical supplies too. Dockson’ll take you. But if there’s more shooting, you really ought to get back below.”

Nodding in agreement, not really meaning it, she followed the swarthy second mate to a small clutter of men who’d limped or been dragged to the sheltered spot. There, her determination faltered.

The worst injury belonged to a younger man who didn’t have a foot. It had been taken clear off – how, she couldn’t imagine – and someone had applied a sloppy tourniquet, but blood still oozed out of the stump. There was no way he’d live if he wasn’t attended to; it was an obvious fact. Her mother’s words ghosted through her head, instructions she’d learned by heart if not applied, but Clarke was paralyzed. She couldn’t possibly tend to that. She couldn’t –

“Captain of the _Sky Lady._ Are you up and ready to negotiate?”

The same hoarse voice, carried by the light breeze, came rough and commanding with the hint of an accent she couldn’t place. The words made her jerk and she found that by focusing on them – by letting her curiosity and trepidation free – Clarke could push herself to kneel next to the unconscious sailor. Her hands quietly accepted the materials Dockson gave her.

Captain Ward was slow to reply. “I like to know the name of a man afore I deal with him.”

A few raucous cries came from the pirates, but their leader replied civilly enough. “Bellamy Blake, or so my mother named me.”

“The devil calls him a nightmare,” some wit proclaimed, while another added, “And we call him the devil!” The laughter that arose from those comments was quick and high, sounding strangely young. Looking across the deck, she thought that Captain Ward seemed to unwind a little. He stood up.

“Blake, eh? I heard of you. And tell me, what we be negotiating?”

“Your surrender.” The pirate paused, considering, and then his words came once again from his menacing vessel. “I’ve enough men to take the ship by force, but that would cost me lives. Lives are expensive, for me and you both. I’d much rather stroll aboard, take what we need and be off with a handshake.”

Her fingers knew what to do; they left the first tourniquet alone for the time being, and began wrapping some cloth around the stump. Clarke wished she had a torch, something to cauterize the wound, but all the lamps were out of reach and the deck was deathly silent, all the hands straining to hear their captain’s conversation. She was no better. She wanted to hear, and she didn’t want to draw attention to their little alcove of wounded, even if this Bellamy Blake might not be able to see it in the darkness.

“Need to have hands tah shake, Blake. You promising you won’t harm none of mine, not crew or passengers?”

“S’long as they follow our instruction, we aren’t going to be harming a hair on their heads. My crew’s a short bit of excitable, though. Not suggesting anyone ‘board your ship resist in any way. At all.” Steel had entered a voice already rough, and it was a chilling effect. Clarke paused when she realized her hammering heart had nothing to do with the injury she was working over.

Telling herself she needed to focus, she began wrapping a better tourniquet, hesitated. “Dockson,” she said, very quietly. “Can you get me a torch?”

Before he could speak, Captain Ward replied. “Seems fair and fair tah me. I get my crew to lay down their weapons, you come over, take what you be needing, and leave, no one harmed in the process. That about the sum of it?”

“That’s about the sum of it. We’re agreed.”

Even as the exchange finished, a whistling sound announced grappling hooks being flung over the _Sky Lady’s_ side, drawing the ships closer together, and in short order several thuds indicated some of the pirates had boarded. More thuds indicated that a _lot_ of the pirates had boarded. Her shoulders painfully tight, Clarke watched as they lit torches, homing first in on Captain Ward. She tensed, but they did nothing but accept his sword and pistol before beginning to file through the rest of the crew.

One of them passed her, his torch held high as he intently scoured the deck, and she realized he really was young. Almost her age, and yet he carried a dagger in one hand, his swaggering confidence ridiculous if it hadn’t been so intimidating. She almost dropped her eyes, but forced them to stay up. She wasn’t about to duck her head to a pirate.

She did nearly scream when someone tapped her shoulder, but stifled it as Dockson silently handed her a torch, the sword he carried on his belt donated to the growing pile near the center of the ship. Giving him a wavering smile, Clarke gripped the base with a sweaty palm, wishing her mother was next to her, wishing she knew if this was the right decision to make.

Wishing pirates hadn’t attacked the ship her mother had chosen for Clarke’s voyage to her husband-to-be.

Biting at her lip, she undid her previous loose bandage, grimaced at the amount of blood it had already soaked up. Taking hurried, quick breaths, knowing she should calm down and not quite managing it, she stuck the torch against the flesh, urging the boy to remain unconscious. The sailor gave no reaction, and the immediate sound of burning flesh, coupled with the stench made Clarke swallow hard even as she took the heat away. 

Cauterization wasn’t a good option – it was hardly even a passable one – but there wasn’t another choice, not with this crew and this far from land. She’d have to be sure to wash the wound several times a day and –

“Hey, you! What’re you doing?”

A swaggering, hard question, and Clarke nearly dropped the torch as one of Bellamy Blake’s crewmembers loomed over her, gun pointed down but with the light illuminating a menacing frown on his face. This one was young, too, but something had eroded the lines of his excessively pale face, thinning his lips and giving a bleak cast to his dark eyes.

Pushing back her shoulders, she replied as coolly as she could around the lump in her throat. “Fixing one of the men you hurt – if that’s acceptable to you.”

His mouth twisted, in amusement or irritation, it was hard to tell. “It’s not my call to make. Come on.” And he stood back, gestured with the gun towards where someone tall was standing next to Captain Ward.

Reluctantly, her stomach squeezed tight with nerves, Clarke rocked to her feet, clutching at the torch like it was a lifeline. “If he wakes up,” she said to Dockson, trying to prove to herself and him that she wasn’t afraid, “come get me.” The pirate snorted but said nothing, just led her along the path his weapon’s muzzle had indicated.

There were a million thoughts going through her head, but one was screaming far louder than the rest. _They can’t know who I am._ She had been trained and told all her life one simple fact; leave Arkon, and you are in danger. Leave Arkon, and you are among enemies, even if you’re to marry them. Not because of what you do, but because of who you are. A daughter of the Griffin line cannot be safe outside of Arkon.

Here she was, outside of her home, in the hands of the enemies, and it wasn’t as though she was about to throw herself off the side of the ship. No, no, she had to _think,_ had to outsmart this Bellamy Blake, had to convince him that she was a – a –

She floundered, trying to think up an excuse as her footsteps slowed. Clarke had never been good at lying, and now –

“What is it, Murphy?”

They were at the two captains, and in the lighting that had been set up by the pirates, Clarke could see that Ward’s face had drained under his full beard, eyes beady with the secret he held. Most of the crew didn’t know who Clarke was – safer that way, her mother had said. Safer for everyone involved. But of course the captain had been alerted of the precious cargo he carried, and it looked as though he was regretting the course. She kept her face rigidly serene, tried to warn him to stay calm with a look.

“Found this one boiling some skip’s leg,” Murphy was explaining. Despite his description, he sounded grudgingly impressed. “Looked like she knew what she was about. Just thought you might want to know.”

It occurred to Clarke, suddenly, that she was avoiding looking at the pirate leader’s face. It was an instinctive fear, a lying habit she’d never gotten rid of, and she bit at her lip even as she forced her gaze to rise. To meet the young man’s closed expression with a bland one of her own, to stare into his hard brown eyes and dare him to guess her secret. To push away the abrupt, ridiculous flush that came to her cheeks when it occurred to her that this captain was not what she had thought a pirate would look like.

He stared at her for a long moment, his flinty scrutiny making her want to dance on the spot like some kind of naughty child. But Clarke gritted her teeth and remained still, and after a while he blinked and seemed to relax just slightly.

A slow, condescending smirk sculpted his lips. “You know something about healing?”

Beside Bellamy, Captain Ward shifted, began to speak. Clarke bulled over him, and tried not to wince at the way Bellamy obviously noticed. “Yes, I do. I learned from my father, the _Sky Lady’s_ surgeon. He – he didn’t make it, last fall.” Her eyes misted with tears that were a far cry from insincere, thinking about her father, about her real father. So many sacrifices for the good of Arkon.

Captain Ward cleared his throat. “Clarke actually earns her keep,” he stated gruffly, and Clarke could have almost kissed the old man. “Was gonna let ‘er off when we made it back to port that time ‘round, but we were limping and she was there. Decided to take ‘er on as my charge, long as she earned her keep.”

He fell silent and the pirate’s face was inscrutable, suddenly far away as he turned from the both of them. Bellamy Blake’s hands travelled restlessly over his pistol, spinning it around, and it seemed like he didn’t even realize what he was doing. Clarke forced herself to breathe, listening to the protesting screams and shouts coming from below deck as her fellow passengers were divested of their possessions. She thought about the necklace around her neck, and began cursing herself for a fool.

The pirate didn’t notice. After a minute or an hour, Clarke could hardly have said how long it was, he turned back to them. His hard voice had become milder, almost polite. “We have someone who’s badly injured on the _Star Fall._ You would be able to attend to them?”

Her eyes widened as she stared. “I – if you brought them over, I could -”

“No, you misunderstand.” Still politely bland. The way a rock is politely bland when it trips you and you swear at it. “You would be able to attend them on the _Star Fall?”_

Clarke swallowed. She could see where this was going, but her gaze, flickering over a watchful Murphy, a silent Captain Ward, saw no help coming. “I could go over now,” she allowed hesitantly, “and take a look. But I won’t be able to help much, before I come back to the _Sky Lady._ ” The last Clarke said firmly, defiantly, trying to meet his eyes and insist that she would come back, she _had_ to come back.

The rock didn’t budge. “I’m afraid it will take longer than that to see to Jasper. No – you’ll have to come with us. We’ll let you back off in a neutral port when he’s healed.” He smiled, but that same bleakness in Murphy’s eyes was in his, and he turned slightly, showing Captain Ward his gun in silent warning. “Don’t worry. It won’t take that long.”

“ _No_!” Clarke didn’t know who was more startled at her shout, herself or Bellamy, but she didn’t let that faze her as she advanced on the pirate, raising a stiff finger to jab him in the chest, almost like it was a knife. “No. I am not going with you. You have no right to take a civilian from an Arkonian vessel! They’ll hunt you down and kill you! Just take what you have and go.”

For just one brief second, as all of them froze in disconcerted astonishment, Clarke thought she just might have gotten through the leader’s block head. But then laughter rang out, and one of the other pirates, lingering on the edge of the conversation, stepped in.

He brushed back his long bangs, grinned at her. “Captain Blake, looks like you got a princess on your hands. You sure you want to be dealing with that mess?”

And Bellamy Blake, his expression stony, reached out and caught her wrist in a grip so hard it hurt. “Sorry Princess, but you are coming with us. Finn, take her aboard.” He yanked her off balance and then shoved her to his crew member, who caught her and began to pull her away. Clarke could hardly even register that he did it gently.

All she could think was that Wells was going to be very, very upset.      


End file.
